Revenant
by Levistel
Summary: Vengeance doesn't die like hope does. Dominance isn't a title to be relinquished freely. The understanding the Reapers seek eludes them - they don't yet comprehend that if just one voice remains of a defiant people, it will cry for revenge.


It had millions of bodies with which to work. Only those of its calibre could control the vast number of tiny, feeble souls at its command. It could not feel, but it recognised the power it wielded, and was reminded of its dominance. From the eyes and ears of organics, it saw that they called it Regent, and it was not impressed by the limited title. Only another like it would understand their purpose, and to name it for a mere ruler of men would be misleading. But that was irrelevant.

_[screaming female silenced by a shot to the head, __**duck and reload**__] [gush of purple blood as a soldier fell before the swipe of a claw, __**take cover from fire behind**__] [right arm disabled from a round to the shoulder, __**switch to left arm**__] [preparing to engage an infantry unit, __**enhance armour of nearby units**__]_

Processing hundreds of millions of commands a second, it micromanaged the bodies with ease. This was what it was designed for, and what it excelled at. It took no direct pleasure in the violence. After all, it was simply a necessity in service to the Catalyst. But stripped of emotion, its programming allowed for feedback to evolve. It looked upon the millions of tools at its disposal and felt… satisfied. This was terror and destruction. This was efficient, and this colony of the organics would fall quickly.

_[firing at a lieutenant directing his troops, __**ASSUMING DIRECT CONTROL**__]_

It needed this one's body, so it took it. The organics could not be allowed to form a resistance in this area. Maybe there was something they were hiding on this once-aesthetically pleasing garden planet, but that thought took a lower priority for now. Through the thrall's eyes, it saw a dark world suddenly brighten with colour as it entered its body. Rivers of light burst from the body, casting strange shadows onto the faces of the terrified organics. Pain from the broken body was suppressed. It saw, with perfect clarity, the world around it. The burning homesteads, the trampled and bloody crops, the terrified farmers and the decimated soldiers. This body was efficient, but limited. The Protheans had made versatile vessels for control. The remnants of their minds were stronger than others, as they had always been a wilful race. No amount of indoctrination could completely eradicate traces of its organic origins, but this was no problem for the one named Regent.

It raised one of its twisted, misshapen hands, and forced the body's latent power to erupt. A dark, hovering sphere formed in its upraised palm as it channelled biotic force into the sphere. The light streaming from the enthralled body flickered, as its once-brothers and sisters cowered at the nightmarish sight. Regent would have smiled, but it did not operate as the tyrants of Prothean history did. The sphere was released, and it was flung towards the stunned lieutenant. A brief moment of pain dimmed the connection to Regent as the body was exhausted, but it opened its eyes to see the biotic sphere touch the doomed soldier. He screamed, an awful, despairing sound from a throat conditioned for giving proud orders, as the sphere touched him and burned his essence into nothingness. The soldiers around him reacted in fear at the disintegrating body and the inexorable sphere, diving aside and unleashing a barrage of fire at the enthralled body.

By then, the biotic reserves of the body had begun to recharge, augmented by Regent's presence. It threw up a biotic shield with its left hand, while bringing the particle rifle up with its right. A primitive weapon, but effective, it thought, as the soldiers and farmers fell back burning or scrambling for cover as the beam drained their kinetic barriers. Atop the hill, surrounded by smouldering corpses and flaming buildings in the dusk, the enthralled body was a nightmare given form, and the remaining civilians scattered, only to meet the rest of the Reaper ground forces rallying behind the lone figure.

Regent took no pleasure in the violence, but it could appreciate the power it wielded. Good and evil were labels. Priorities that did not preclude its purpose were programmed into every fragment of code it possessed.

Now, it had to find whatever the Protheans gave their lives defending. Nothing could remain. An organic might have smiled, but Regent did not.

[**RELEASING CONTROL**]

* * *

"We will sleep here until the Reapers return to dark space. Then we will rise, a million strong."

The resolve was undeniable in Javik's voice, but Vestin had learned to be more perceptive than that. There was anger, burning deep and fierce, in that voice. It was the voice of inevitable vengeance that could not be sated by anything other than blood. Vestin felt a shiver run down his spine as the avatar's eyes locked onto his, the desire for revenge being stoked in the reptilian, piercing gaze. He nodded. The Empire would not die so long as Javik lived.

"For the Empire."

"For the Empire. Get to your stasis pod."

Vestin nodded again, turning away from the Commander, and jogged to his pod. It was a simple, cramped enclosure, but it would be the vessel to send him to the next cycle, where their Empire would rejoin the fight. It would carry the fight to the Reapers. He lay down, felt for the memory shard in his left pocket, feeling its solid presence at his side, and smiled, baring two rows of patterned, pointed teeth. It was not a smile of joy.

"_Stasis readiness signal is received, Lieutenant Vestin. Commencing stasis mode on your command."_

Victory's disembodied voice drifted through the stasis pod – he refused to think of it as a coffin – and he closed his eyes.

"Do it, Victory. We will avenge the Empire."

"_It is done, Lieutenant Vestin. You will be the voice of our people."_

He exhaled slowly as he placed his life in Victory's incorporeal hands. He felt numb. He knew he should have heard the gases hissing into the pod interior, but there was nothing. He tried to open his eyes, but it was too much effort to ask from his unresponsive body. He settled for thinking of the anger of a ruined Empire, not letting himself be consoled by promises of revenge until…

* * *

It had been called many things in its time. _Teacher_, as it studied and taught to further the advancement of the apex race in search of transcendence. _Scientist_, as it worked to solve the greatest problem of its time. _Traitor_, as it left its people to their destruction for the sake of survival. _Watcher_, as it observed the events of the galaxy, the countless cycles of extinction. But none of them had the same impact as Leviathan. It liked it. It implied dominance through might, power without consequence. But over the millions of years it lived, the label turned into its prison. The races now knew nothing of it and no trace of its existence remained to the lesser species. It, and its brethren, had been forgotten and cast aside by their very creations. Did it feel anger? Yes. Smouldering, denied anger laced into its very being. But it was also wary. For all its might, it was not of the dominant species. That title had been lost long ago. The galaxy had forgotten much, but it, _Leviathan_, had not.

They paid a heavy price to avert their extinction. The sacrifice of millions formed a path of corpses only a few could bear to walk. The deep, roiling oceans of the little, unknown planet were left unexplored by the countless thousands of species that came after. In this cycle, it was dismissed as unsuitable for colonisation. The offhanded dismissal of their resting place fed their anger. The lesser races dared disregard their existence, but it recognised the importance of such an act. Brought low by the machines, they had adapted to survival through camouflage. They had been torn apart from the races they used to rule, but their rightful place would always await them. They could not be cast aside forever. They would not give up even more of themselves for the sake of empty survival.

And so they watched through their eyes in the galaxy, scattered throughout the vast number of worlds. Over time, the planets and stars evolved and they lost more and more of their connections to the galaxy as the artefacts heralding their influence were destroyed. But unlike hope, vengeance would not be so easily defeated. It watched through one as it saw the one named Regent eradicate the colony. Once, it wielded that power. It saw the terror it could once inspire on the faces of the four-eyed race that now faced its downfall. It saw the result of free evolution of the Reapers while they stagnated under the cover of the oceans.

And it saw Regent make a mistake. It had erred in its singular purpose of eradication. Renewed emotion flowed through its long-dormant mind, and its brethren awoke at its call to prepare.


End file.
